


Coffee, Scones And Gallifreyan Poitín

by gingerkitten2784



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Original Character(s), Twelfth Doctor Era
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-12
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-06-01 19:16:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6533065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingerkitten2784/pseuds/gingerkitten2784
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>12 Doctor lands somewhere other than his intended destination. Runs into someone oddly familiar. Have ideas for further chapters, depending on response. Thanks!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Tirhena walks down a familiar side street, toward her cafe on Grovesnor Square. After so many years, she barely notices the people, traffic, or even buildings she passes. Background noise. Ephemera. Fleeting images, no more substantial or lasting than a wave on a beach.

_How many times have I made this walk now? My feet have touched these exact spots on these exact stones before. How many more times will I take these same steps before I can go ho_ me?

She knows how pointless it is to think this way. But sometimes, it feels good to wallow.

Just as her mind starts to settle in for some serious self-pity, she passes in front of the U.S. Embassy. Automatically, she tenders a friendly greeting and customary offer of free tea and scones to the fresh-faced Marines on early morning gate duty.

_Such sweet boys. Shame what happens to their country in 2043. Oof. ... Wonder if I'll still be here for that. ... What am I saying? Of course I will._

Before she can contemplate where to hunker down for the big 'Happening' in 28 years, something, from the corner of her eye, catches her attention. A flash of blue.

_Not just blue, but the bluest blue that ever blued._

Immediately, she feels stupid for even thinking that. Then, she feels properly foolish for what she thinks next.

_It's him. I knew he'd come for me. He's really the only one that would._

Of course, it couldn't be him. None of them cared anymore. The only thing left was the war, and she'd tried to run. Even if it ended, they would never forgive. Best forget about it and wait to slowly go insane on this backwoods planet full of barely sentient meat sacks.

_It can't hurt to look though. I have time for a quick stroll in the square. No harm in just making sure. Verify I'm losing my mind._

Without making a conscious decision, Tirhena finds herself turning into the green space; drawn inexorably toward the flash of blue she may (or may not) have seen. She turns a corner around a clump of trees and hears a distinctly Scottish voice.

"Oh no. No, no, no, no. What're you doin'? Where are we? This is NO' the seventh moon of Baraxias 9. You. Are. Useless sometimes. D'you know that?"

*thump*

"Ouch! A splinter? Really? Very mature."

Then she sees it in its' full splendor. A big blue police box; the TARDIS belonging to her favorite, and most despised, species-mate.

_Species-mate. Is that the right word? Well, humans don't really have a word for it. At least not for another century or so. There's a word in Kosnaxian, but it's unpronounceable without two tongues. Of course High Gallifreyan has a word for it - it has a word for everything- but somehow I can't remember it now._

"Y'a lil' lawst, hon?" she asks the grumbling Scotsman, exaggerating her distinctly Mid-Atlantic accent.

"Lost? Am I lost? Not exactly. I know exactly where I am. I know precisely when I am. It's just that - here is not where I want to be. It's not when I want to be. In fact, there's virtually nothing about here and now that I want anything to do with!" the man replies, sounding more agitated with each sentence.

He still has his back to her, glaring at the time machine. After giving the corner a firm kick with his heavy Doc Marten boots, he turns around; fixing his strikingly blue eyes on her.

"Now, what d'you want?"

"Well. I was just strolling through, heard you shouting and thought I'd stop and see if I could be of any help."

He looks incredulous.

"You? Help? *scoff* Not unless, you know how to fix the chrono-dynamic targeting computer on a Type 40 TARDIS"

"Ooh. Hard luck. I've only ever worked on Type 90 and up. Best I could do it hit it with a wrench." Tirhena replies with a cheeky grin.

The man's eyebrows unknit. His face reshapes itself into a wary smirk, and he extends his hand.

"Heh heh. I'm the Doctor. Madman in a box, bumming around all of time and space."

"Tirhena. I own a cafe on the other side of the square; and I make bitchin' scones."

She shakes his hand firmly, and closely watches his reaction for any hint of recognition. Nothing yet.

_Maybe I'm missing something. No. No, definitely not. I've never seen this face before, but it's absolutely the Doctor. I'll know it when he catches on._

"Did you say 'scOHns'?" he asks, mimicking her own accent back to her. "What is a 'scOHn'? is it anything like a 'scAWn' ?"

"A bit, just far less pretentious sounding. Care to try one?"

The Doctor gives her another wary smirk.

"I can't decide if I like you, or if you're too cheeky by half."

"Are the two mutually exclusive?" Tirhena inquires, watching his reaction closely. "Why not come along and have a bit of breakfast while you decide. I'm sure time travel must take a lot out of a person."

He shrugs noncommittally. "Nothing that hasn't grown back - so far any way."


	2. Chapter 2

The Doctor follows close behind his new acquaintance as she leads him toward the far side of the square.

_There's something odd about her. Well of course there is. Otherwise I wouldn't bother with this cafe nonsense. Doesn't she know it's the wrong time of day for breakfast? Well - here it isn't, but for me it is._

Through the dim half-light of the early morning, he looks at her again and tries to organize the mass of observations he'd made moments before.

_Purple hair. Is that her natural color, or did she dye it? No, still too early for humans to have naturally purple hair. By the taste of the atmosphere, it'll be another century of so before they give themselves that mutation...gold eyes too, if I remember correctly. She sounds wrong for London. Did she come here from America? Must have. Probably why she's so friendly. None of this is especially odd. So why am I following her?_

"What did you say your name was again?" the Doctor asks aloud.

"Tirhena." she calls over her shoulder.

"Odd name, that."

"Is that so, _Doctor_?" Tirhena retorts, "If you must know, my parents were hippies. They always told me Tirhena meant 'Joyful Peace' in Sanskrit. Though I'm fairly certain they made that up. But, you can't choose your family." she shrugs.

The Doctor looks at her (more accurately, the back of her head) incredulously, but lets it slide.

"You didn't seem fazed when I said I'm a time traveller."

"I just figured you're delusional. You did describe yourself as a 'madman in a box'. Seems apt. Here we are."

Tirhena pulls a set of keys from her bag and unlocks the door.

The cafe is on the ground floor of an old building, likely one of the original houses built on the square in the 1700s. Unlike most other structures in this part of London, the building housing the cafe appears to have survived the centuries with minimal changes. As they enter the darkened space, the Doctor looks around and notices a strange hodepodge of decor. A long, ornate Rococco table runs down the center of the room, flanked by a variety of chairs. Throughout the crowded restaurant, the Doctor notes furniture styles spanning over 400 years. Art Deco light fixtures, a Georgian couch; by the window, a Jacobean credenza with intricate mother of pearl inlays holds a mass of flyers and booklets. To confirm his suspicions, he lets his fingers drag across a few of the more authentic looking items as Tirhena leads him through the maze-like space.

_Yep. That's real...That too...Surely not the - oh, hey._

Even from a cursory touch, he can sense the age of the objects; feel the weight of their time.

_Either this woman has far too much money, and frighteningly eclectic taste, or something very strange is going on here._

"Have a look at the menu board there, and let me know what jumps out at you. I just have to pop into the kitchen and make sure my staff actually showed up. Back in a sec," Tirhena calls.

The Doctor watches her disappear through the swinging doors to the back of the building, and then continues his assessment of the cafe.

_Yes, Definitely something strange here._ he thinks, pulling out his sonic screwdriver to analyze the retro diner-style display case full of pastries.

_Hmm. Normal vintage display case. Working well. Nothing too off about that. Oh wait - it's not plugged in..._

He hears footsteps and a voice approaching and quickly re-pockets the device.

"Thanks guys! Nothing beats fresh coffee at this time of morning. I'll make the changes on the specials board now." Tirhena says over her shoulder as she returns with two mugs.

"How do you like your coffee, hun?"

"Black."

"Right, here y'are then. So what do you think of the place?"

"The decor is quite - varied." the Doctor replies, carefully pitching his voice to imply the question on his mind.

Tirhena gives a slightly embarrassed laugh. "Yeah, my accountant says I have bad taste. Expensive, but bad."

"Hmm. How long have you run this place?" he asks, trying to sound conversational.

"Feels like centuries sometimes. Other times, it feel like we just opened yesterday. So, what can I get you?"

The Doctor gives her another critical look.

"Is that Cranberry-Orange-Pistachio, I see?"


End file.
